Night
by plumeria
Summary: Harry thinks about his relationship with Draco **Slash**


**Title:** Night   
**Author:** Plumeria   
**Rating:** PG   
**Disclaimer:** JKRowling owns Harry Potter. No infringement intended. My husband owns a silver Hebrew ring.   
**Summary/Author's Note:** Harry thinks about his relationship with Draco, late at night. Please go admire the lovely drawing **Adi** made for me: .   
**Feedback:** Yes please. Even short notes mean a lot to me. I accept constructive as well as positive remarks.

**WARNING:** This fic contains **SLASH**, as in same-sex relationships. If this makes you want to run away screaming, I suggest that you do so now. Don't bother leaving flames -- unless you want me to share them with all my friends so we can have a good laugh. (You think I'm kidding?) 

* * *

Faint moonlight streams in through the window, illuminating the bedside clock just enough for me to see the time -- 3:30am. There was a time in my life when I hated being awake in the middle of the night. It was lonely, so lonely, and the everpresent dark failed to keep my demons at bay. But now it's different. On those nights when sleep eludes me, I now have company, I have light. That company is provided by the person who mirrors me and completes me, and who curls his slender form around me every night. And that light comes from the silver-bright strands of tousled hair, which brighten the darkness even when there is no moon.

We've been together nearly nine years now, and I never stop marveling at the miracle of it all. That we were able to recognize the fact that our 'differences' really reflected how much the same we were. That our obsession of dislike turned into a obsession of interest, of lust, and, eventually, of love. And that we've been able to keep up that single-minded devotion for so long.

Even now, I can't stop staring at his pale, finely-chiseled features. So often, that face is hidden in a mask, a shield against the public eye. Only when we're alone do I see the true Draco, with all the warmth and emotion, fear and pain that he is capable of. And only in sleep do I ever see him _completely_relax. The gray eyes are closed now, but I don't need to see their ever-changing hues; we have held each other's gaze so often - across crowded rooms and in the intimacy of private moments -- that I have their many storms and hidden messages burned into my brain. Those eyes have often told me far more than words. He's not a man to say "I love you" outright; not often, anyway. But I don't need the words. His face and, more importantly, his actions go much further to express how he feels about me, about us, and I have never doubted his love.

He shifts restlessly on the bed, and another bright flash catches my eye. His ring. I reach out to twine my own left hand in his, shifting my fingers until there's the slight *clink* of metal's kiss. A perfect example of actions speaking louder than words. There was no fanfare, no official proposal or speaking of vows, just - one day he showed up with two identical silver rings in a box, already perfectly sized for the two of us. Around the band were Hebrew characters, but he offered no translation, and I didn't ask. Instead, I took my ring - or rather, I took myself (the ring has never come off my hand) - to the nearest temple the next time I was in the City, and asked the Rabbi what it meant.

_"I am my beloved's and my beloved is mine."_

Who knew a wizarding child from a Dark family had read the Song of Songs? But I loved it. I love that it's something meaningful to us, and yet private - after all, few wizards can read Hebrew. The silver doesn't draw a lot of attention, not like gold or jewels; but whenever we run our fingers together, the twin bands stand out in our eyes, highlighting the meaning and strength of our union.

There are so many other things he does for me, ways of expressing his commitment and affection without being mushy. Tea waiting for me each morning. The way he scrubs my back in the shower. And the fact that he volunteered to teach Quidditch to the kids at the orphanage where I work. I don't think he really had ever had much exposure to children before, but after I fretted about needing some sort of activity for them, he simply showed up one evening after work, broom in one hand, and a gaggle of eager children tugging on his other. I'm sure he was terrified, but he never complained, and now he has come to love them all as much as I have. We've talked about adopting a couple of them ourselves, perhaps someday soon.

Who needs words when you have all this?

The sky outside is still a star-spangled black, but I know the dawn is coming soon. Another cup of tea, another slick of soap over my back, another day of work and chores and stresses. Another night of making love. 

Another day with Draco. 

(End) 

Feedback is greatly appreciated.


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